Scars and Bros
by Ivori
Summary: Gamzee shows Dave his scars. Drabble. Sadfluff. GamDave. StrawberryJam. T for language I guess.


**Author's Note: GamDave drabble that was meant to be cute and fluffy but ended up being kinda sad. Oh well... For Middy 3**

* * *

HONK.

You'd been hearing the honking for a while now. You assumed it was just the troll juggalo being a weirdo again.

HONK.

Wait. That one was a lot closer than before. You look around, but there's no sign of the elusive clown. You frown, not liking the feeling that you were being watched. You shake your head and turn back around, continuing your way back to the library where Rose probably is.

HONK.

"Okay what the hell?" you yell out, not keen on putting up with Gamzee's bullshit any longer. "C'mere you fuckin' juggalo, stop stalking me!" there's no answer and you glower in anger. But this time when you turn back around you find your path blocked.

"What's motherfucking wrong, my blasphemous brother?" says Gamzee, a wide grin on his face. You attempt to keep your cool, but to be perfectly honest, he'd just scared the shit out of you. His overwhelming height didn't help either. You had to tilt your head just to look at his face, which was blocked mostly by shadows. His eyes were glowing a soft orange as he looked placidly down at you.

"What's your problem, man? Why're you stalking me?" you say, an edge to your voice.

"Who motherfucking said that I was motherfucking stalking you?" Gamzee tilts his head to the side, his fangs glinting. He sure did have the largest fangs of any of the trolls. Damn, he's really just a scary motherfucker, isn't he?

"I said so, so stop it," you say harshly, pushing past him and continuing on your way.

HONK.

Annoyed, you whirl back towards him, anger showing visibly on your face. But you stop at the beaten-puppy look on Gamzee's face. He pouts his lips, slightly smearing his facepaint.

"I just wanted to motherfucking talk to you," he says, not meeting your eyes. You stare at him completely deadpan. Gamzee was one of the few trolls you'd never really talked to and never really wanted to talk to. From what Karkat says about him, he seems to be an enigmatic psychopathic kind of guy.

"Why?" you're honestly curious.

"Cause I think you're motherfucking cool!" Gamzee turns back to you, his eyes bright and he smiles at you genuinely.

"Uh... That's awesome, bro, but did you have to be a creep about it?" you say, giving him an estranged look.

"Sorry brother, but I just don't motherfucking seem to know how," Gamzee shrugs, leaning backwards. He walks up to you and you consider taking a step back because he seems to not know the meaning of personal space. "I motherfucking like you, brother. You seem like a chill motherfucker."

"I try," you say, looking at the scars on his face. He follows your gaze and then grins tauntingly at you.

"Cool aren't they?"

"I wouldn't say that," you mutter.

"You wanna touch them?" he leans down to your level, his face only inches from yours. You bite your lower lip, deeply tempted to touch the scars, but not wanting to seem like an eager idiot. "Don't be shy, lil motherfucker," he grabs your hands and places them on his cheekbones, staring at you for an almost uncomfortable amount of time without blinking. His cheeks are cold and he closes his eyes, his smile softening a bit. "Damn, motherfucker, your hands feel nice," he tilts his head into your hands and then looks back up towards you.

You feel obligated to do something so you cruise your hand up above his eyebrow before the scar begins. It didn't seem like it had been very well taken care of after the initial cut and it healed badly on his face, creating deep purple scars down his face. You'd never asked Karkat or anyone how those scars had been caused, but you assumed it had to do when Gamzee lost his shit.

He definitely wasn't okay now.

But at least he wasn't trying to kill you. That was a plus.

You cruise your thumb down the dark purple scar, running over his eye, then his nose, then over his lips. You hoped he didn't notice you hesitate, but the taunting light in his eyes told you otherwise.

"Wanna know how I got these motherfucking scars?" he says lowly, his eyes glowing. You gulp, not really sure you wanted to know. "It's motherfucking okay, my brother. Motherfuckers don't gotta know every motherfucking thing about a motherfucker," he blinks languidly, pulling away from you. "I'm sure you've done some motherfucking things that you're not proud of," he looks at you like he knows something and you try not to show your surprise.

"We've all got our scars," you say, ignoring the shakiness of your voice. He looks back towards you, he's not smiling anymore and he almost looks sad. "Do you regret it?"

"Every motherfucking day. But I couldn't motherfucking help it," he smiles and looks at his hands, staring at them. "We've got our motherfucking roles to fulfill. And sometimes you're not the motherfucking good guy," he turns to you, smiling, lips tight against his fangs.

"Fuck that," you say, your voice hard. Gamzee gives you a surprised look, "You don't have to fulfill any goddamn role that you don't fucking want to. If you want to be the good guy then goddammit, you be the fucking good guy!"

"Those are some pretty motherfucking words," Gamzee smiles at you. "You sound like my motherfucking best bro," his smile falters. "Uhh, I mean my motherfucking ex-best bro," he corrects awkwardly.

"You mean Karkat?" you ask a bit insensitively. Gamzee gives you a look that you didn't know he was capable of giving that makes you feel utterly stupid for asking.

"Well I can be your bro if you want, man," you say, shrugging your shoulders. Gamzee seems to brighten and he smiles at you but then he chuckles darkly, his head lolling to the side as he shakes his head back and forth.

"That won't motherfucking work, my brother. Because I don't motherfucking like you like that," he says, a flicker of a teasing smile on his face.

"What do you mean?" you ask. Though, the next second he leans down pulls your face to his. You let out an embarrassed, flustered huff straight onto his face and he's looking straight at you with his half-moon eyes. He pulls away, his tongue slipping out and he licks your lips and then makes an exaggerated movement out of straightening up, continuing to stare at you, waiting for an answer.

"Oh." It's the only thing you say as you stare back up at him.

"Oh." He copies in a deadpan, not smiling anymore, but still waiting for a more-than-one-syllable reply.

"Uh. Well..." you rub the back of your neck. "Let's just start off with being bros, man," you mutter, embarrassed.

"I'm motherfucking fine with that, my brother, as long as bros are allowed some sloppy motherfucking makeouts then I'm motherfucking fine."

You guess you can't really argue with that.


End file.
